"Basic Training," he replied.

He gave Niki some time to cool off, while Amara eagerly tended to her incredibly superficial wounds. It was a waste of good healing, probably, but he wasn't about to order her to withhold it.

"That went well," Eva said. But Shiroe knew that was only true tactically. Strategically, they had a morale problem. Niki had trust issues, or issues with authority, or perhaps she simply couldn't bear to sit still. Whatever the cause, he needed to address it quickly.

He needed to regain her trust.

After she had stopped panting, Shiroe approached Niki.

"Do you have any complaints?" he said.

"Fuck you."

"Not here. You might get crabs."

Niki's face imploded into a cringe as a laugh escaped from her. "I hate you so fucking much right now," she wheezed. Her face was bright red.

Shiroe nodded. "That's understandable. Do you want to hit me?"

Niki scoffed. "Wearing that? One hit would kill you."

"Perhaps." Shiroe's eye drifted to the shattered corpse of the fallen crab. "Want to do it again?"

Niki let out an annoyed sigh. "Are you going to ensnare me again?"

"Only if you start to move out of position again."

Niki grunted. "Any army I've ever served in, I'd have been beaten for insubordination by now."

Shiroe gave a single nod of acknowledgement. "I'd say that's a flaw with those particular armies."

Niki stifled another laugh. "You're so... you just don't know when to quit."

"The word you're looking for is 'incorrigible.' Come on, let's drag this carapace up onto the grass. And if you'd like to sit out the next fight--"

"Like hell! You guys would be crab food without me. Come on, let's move this fucker." Niki kicked the crab corpse once, then started to drag it up the slope to the top of the cliff.

They culled four more Giant River Crabs before their mana potions ran out. They probably could have taken more, but Amara was too eager to heal. She kept squirming and pressing her thighs together, and by the end of things she was a sticky, panting mess. And Eva kept complaining about scratches on her legs, and then complaining again when Amara tried to examine her legs to treat her, only to turn bright red and wiggle herself in the cleric's face.

How interesting.

Three women, each submissive in different ways. Each shy about it in a way that seemed too explicit to call denial and too public to call closeted. Each acting out in ways that made them pariahs in their fields, in a game-like world where everything from the equipment to the lore seemed almost designed to encourage their worst tenancies.

Shiroe pushed his glasses up his nose.